Pieces Of Filthy Glass
by Derby
Summary: A short, one-shot angsty piece. Adaline has always been ugly. What happens when she can't take it anymore? Will anyone help her?


A/N: I need to rant, so I'll do it through a story. ^___^ this will only be a one-shot piece. (I realize it doesn't mention much about the Newsies, but it has a little bit.) Enjoy!  
  
Disclaimer: Adaline is mine; I don't own the Newsies (doi!)  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Pieces Of Filthy Glass  
  
  
  
Adaline was clever. Adaline was pleasant. Adaline loved to laugh. Adaline was ugly.  
  
In the lowest, dirtiest, foulest area in all of New York beauty was hard to find, especially among the ragged people. Though this was true, underneath the dirt many of the people were quite fine looking, some even pretty. Adaline was an exception. No matter if she used the finest soap in all of America, even if she wore the finest clothing and the most stunning hairpieces, Adaline would still be ugly. Atrocious. She remembered being called that. Atrocious.  
  
Her eyes were an ordinary brown, her face ashen and square, thick brows and thin lips. She could have been ordinary, even just plain, if it were not for the birthmark. Across the entire left side of her dingy face lay a reddened, shining mark. Not a thin line, but a large obtrusive scar resembling a burn or bruise. Layers of pure white powder could not camouflage it. Nothing could.  
  
'She hasn't a chance for marriage.' Her mother had said to her father one evening when Adaline was thought not to be listening, 'What shall we do?'  
  
Adaline had heard, and she knew it was true.  
  
Now, nearly seventeen, she had learned to depend on herself, not to trust men, and most importantly, never love.  
  
The daily routine of browsing market stalls to find the freshest vegetables was tedious. Adaline had become accustomed to ignoring the stares and nasty comments thrown in her direction. Vendors would sometimes refuse to sell her anything for fear she would rive away customers, others threw the produce at her.  
  
'She's a witch. She casts spells on crops and makes 'em die!' was the lore told about her around the market. 'She'll burn your skin just by lookin' at you!'  
  
  
  
Ladies dressed in soft silks would gape at her, men would cover their lady's eyes as she passed, even the dirty street children would stare or laugh. A decayed rat corpse was thrown at her feet only days earlier.  
  
Adaline prayed, wept and stormed. There was nothing that would change her face.  
  
She had seen a boy with lovely blonde hair and an eye patch that day. He sold papers near the park with a friend each day. Adaline would watch from afar, her heart secretly longed for him, his embrace. She didn't want to love him, but she did. Oh how she did.  
  
'He would know how it felt.' She had thought. The boy wasn't rejected though. Buyers smiled at him as he handed them their papers. Girls gave him shy smiles. Numerous friends laughed with him. He didn't know how it felt, of course he didn't.  
  
Thursday afternoon seemed to be a busy day for the newsboys, the blonde boy, Blink he was called, cheerily called out false headlines attracting citizens like flies to honey. Adaline watched, grinning when he would grin, laughing when he would laugh.  
  
Finally she moved. She carefully planned what to say, how to act. She was going to talk to him. Her heart hammered against her chest as she steadily approached him, for a moment forgetting about the mark on her face. She tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He spun around and gave a grand smile, expecting a customer.  
  
'Hello.' She said.  
  
Blink looked puzzled for a moment, his eye wandering to the left side of her face.  
  
'You want to buy a pape, miss?'  
  
  
  
Adaline shook her head, she seemed to be frozen despite the sweltering heat. She took a small step toward him, unsure of what to do. He took an equal step back.  
  
'He almost looks terrified.' Adaline thought bitterly.  
  
She turned quickly on her heel and ran. Ran until her lungs seemed to have exploded, her breath short and shallow. She stopped at the bridge. A bottle lay glimmering in the late afternoon sun. Clear, delicate pieces lay shattered on the gray. Adaline picked up the largest piece and held it up to the beaming sun.  
  
It flashed. Sparkling like tears. A passer by called out, 'Gonna kill yerself, girl? You oughta with a face like that!'  
  
  
  
Adaline's eyes stung. That hadn't been her intention, but the more she thought about it, the more it seemed to be the obvious choice.  
  
She held the piece of glass to her throat, ignoring the gasps around her, the moment seemed to swell.  
  
  
  
A simple motion. So simple. So deadly.  
  
  
  
  
  
The glass piece glimmered with its badge of red. A crimson stain.  
  
Pieces of filthy glass. 


End file.
